


Afterglow - Larry Stylinson

by swanky_larry



Category: One Direction (Band), Sweet Creature - Harry Styles (Song)
Genre: 1D Day, Bottom Harry, Bottom Harry Styles, Boyfriends, Dom Louis Tomlinson, Drama, Drama & Romance, Fanfiction, Gay, Gay Sex, Harry Styles Loves Louis Tomlinson, Jealous Louis, LGBTQ Character, Larry Stylinson Is Real, Liam Payne & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, M/M, Niall Horan & Harry Styles Friendship, One Direction One Shot, One Shot, Porn, Romance, Smut, Sub Harry, Top Louis Tomlinson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21724498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanky_larry/pseuds/swanky_larry
Summary: He's on the outside looking in. Clear, luminous, mossy eyes- so bright they could be woven with strands of silk.He reaches for me.-Or the one where Harry is the only one in town with honest eyes and Louis finds him refreshing, like strawberries on a summer evening.Bottom!harry
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	1. Curly Boy in the Tub

**Author's Note:**

> Wattpad is swanky_larry ! :)

"There you are." El's voice is prominent over the faint booming of the music rattling beneath us. She boosts herself off the ladder and sits on the roof next to me. I spare her a quick glance and a pursed lipped smile, tapping ash from my cigarette to look too preoccupied to respond. We sit in silence for a few minutes, watching some of the drunken senior class stumble off the front lawn and get in the driver's seats of their cars.

  
"Fuckin' twits." I curse under my breath and Eleanor sighs. I watch them swerve home. "Going to kill someone..." I shake my head at the sight.

  
"Why'd you ditch me?" Eleanor scoots closer to me now and plucks my cig out of my fingers to take a drag. "It's like," smoke follows her words, "you don't like me lately or something." She gives me a broken look and I feel bad for laughing, but lying to her comes naturally to me.

  
"We've been together for years, El." I state, like telling her a simple fact will derail the topic. She gives me a stare that tells me she's not having it this time. "Things have just been hard lately. You know that." I whisper the last part and steal my cigarette back.

  
"Well there's one thing that for sure hasn't been hard-" She glances down to my lap and back to my face. I give her a repulsed expression. I would ask her where she gets off, but it wouldn't help my case. "You haven't been able to get it up for me for weeks. What's going on with us?"

  
"El, I'm not-"

  
"And don't tell me you're not having this conversation with me." She sits straighter and I respond with a scoff, unable to make eye contact with her. She's come to know my every escape at this point. There's no going back.

  
I gaze up to the stars and I feel the night hanging on me like a soft- damp bedgown. I don't know why I'd ever agreed to go to this damn party with her. I was well aware we'd be having this talk tonight. I knew I was cutting it close to admitting it to her. "Think I'm gay..." I say in a rush and sharply inhale the noise from before. We sit in the loudest silence I've ever heard. She makes a sound that isn't human, almost like an injured fox, and she looks away from me for the first time.

  
"Unbelievable." I think I hear her mutter, and then she's hastily climbing off the roof. My heart sinks suddenly to then start beating like a wild bird in a cage. I feel as if my brain's not getting enough oxygen as it tells me, "What if she tells someone?" My stomach is going to coil in on itself just thinking about the possibility. I quickly and shakily grasp the rungs of the ladder, the grass is meeting my shoes as soon as I can make it happen. I prepare myself for the smell of sweat and booze as I enter the house brimming to the doors with piss-drunk teens. Dancing bodies nudge into me and I'm terrified of throwing up on someone, so I don't hesitate to shove people out of my way. They can't hear me over the music anyway so I can't simply tell them to fuck off. I find the stairs and I press my hand to the wall to support myself as I can feel my lunch coming up.

  
A bathroom, finally. I frantically twist the knob every which way until the door bursts open and I slam to my knees in front of the toilet, emptying my nervous stomach. "Fuck." I groan into the toilet bowl, eyes clenched. It takes the rest of my energy to reach up and flush it. My back slams against the wall behind me and I blink away tears. This is when I realize I'm not alone. "Erhm... Are you okay?" The sweet honey voice fills the space around me. I jump and snap my gaze his direction. A boy with chocolate, curly locks is sitting in the bathtub, legs dangling over the side. He grimaces at what he'd just witnessed.

  
"Bloody hell, Lad." I press a hand over my erratic heart from the scare he'd given me. He looks around in confusion like he thinks I'm talking to someone else, but we're the only ones in the room. He doesn't seem like he's trying to be funny either, maybe that's just how cross-faded this kid is. "M'fine. Fhanks." I don't mean to sound annoyed, but I've never been one for being friendly with people who pretend to care about me. I hold my face in my hands for what feels like centuries. I don't mind the silence, I'd rather he left the room completely, but not speaking will do- until something pokes my knee. I peek through my fingers and watch the kid slide a piece of gum onto my bent knee and jerk his hand back like I'll bite. He doesn't say anything, he just takes a swig from his can of beer and watches me watch him. I give him a nod and unwrap the mint gum to pop it in my mouth. "Fhanks." I say again. His cheeks dimple. We sit in silence again. He swings one of his legs back and forth, creating a thumping with the heel of his white converse against the tub. The sound contrasts with the booming downstairs. It almost drives me nuts. I'd juts get up and leave, but I'm not sure where I'd go. Eleanor was my ride and my stomach wouldn't allow me to do anything as physical as walk home at this point. My nerves would kill me first.

  
"Too much to drink?" His leg stops swinging when he speaks and he's furrowing his eyebrows towards me. He must've noticed my far-off stare. I huff and shake my head.

  
"No." I state simply. I watch his huge eyes shift around in confusion, like I'd given him a wrong answer. He finally just hums in response. I squint my eyes at the all-to-familiar green flannel he's wearing. "That's my shirt." I point and he jerks his head back like I'd insulted him. "I lost that at school like weeks ago." I explain annoyedly and his lips form an O.

  
"Yeah, I got it out of the lost and found." He looks at me like a deer in the headlights. He does remind me a bit of Bambi. If he were someone else who hadn't offered me gum and he didn't look as innocent as he did, I'd for sure retaliate and force him to give it back to me right then and there. It was one of my favorite flannels. Instead I just change the subject.

  
"Haven't seen you 'round before. You new to town?" Every time I speak to him he leans forward to study my lips. It's not like he does it so he can hear me better. It's quite silent in this bathroom. He's just odd as hell. My stomach flips.

  
"We have Anatomy together." He says, still leaned forward. He studies my face for an explanation. I cock my head and he gives me a bored stare. "Harry. Styles." He says it like it'll ring a bell. He can tell it doesn't though, because he connotes, "You're hardly ever in class. Never mind." It's true. I'm truant as a motherfucker. I give him an expression and a shrug that tells him, 'that's fair.' Harry leans back again and picks at the fabric of the ripped hole at the knee of his denim jeans. I clear my throat. I let my demeanor grow softer. I feel like a twat for not remembering him in the slightest.

  
"What're you doing in here all alone anyway?" I ask him carefully. He raises his brows at me and gives me a once-over. My heart stutters for a second at the foreign feeling. I'm locked in my head, soaking in the feeling of his gaze on me, until he speaks again.

  
"I hate parties, mate. Dunno how I even ended up here." I notice his words slur for the first time since we'd been talking. He barks a quick, loud laugh and slaps his hand over his mouth like he's being hunted and he'd just given up his hiding spot. The corners of my lips twitch upward. I awkwardly look down at the tile, suppressing my grin. Harry's got a way about him that feels more real than anyone I know. I don't respond and he makes a 'pfft,' sound with his lips before trailing off with an "Anyway," not intending to say anything more.

  
"Yeah, me too, I guess." I say after a long silence. He humphs. I side-eye him and he's already looking at me, but he quickly turns his attention away like he hadn't been staring. I curse my cheeks for flaring up. Inhaling a shaky breath, I reach up and grab the edge of the counter to help myself to my feet with a grunt. I pout at my fringe in the mirror, tussling it a bit with my fingers.

  
"Wait, where are you going?" Harry's voice is a pitch higher now almost like he's whining. I look at my reflection, bemused, and then turn my gaze to him. He stares up at me like a lost puppy.

  
"Home, I think." I shrug and continue to fix my feathery brunette hair.

  
"Are you okay to drive?" He sniffles and I watch him rub his nose with his knuckles. I shake my head.

  
"Didn't drive here and my ride left... Gonna walk." I explain myself, turning around and leaning against the counter now.

  
"Can I come?" He asks and I hear him shift in the porcelain tub. I give him a disgruntled expression and scoff.

  
"No?" I roll my eyes and he exclaims a quick "ugh," like I'd just bailed on premeditated plans with him.

  
"I can't go home this drunk. Was planning on staying at a friend's but he like... gets on my nerves." Harry jeers at the word "friends," and I watch him use over exaggerated hand motions when he speaks. "I just need somewhere to crash, Lad. Otherwise I'm sleeping in this tub." He puckers his lips to the side, shoulders deflating.

  
"Yeah, well I don't think my dad would be too keen on me bringing home a drunk stranger at two in the morning." I raise an eyebrow at him and he squints at me.

  
"We're not strangers, we have anatomy together." He protests, a finger in the air and then he chuckles. His smile drops when he doesn't see me laughing, I just purse my lips. "Please?" He clasps his hands together like a pleading cartoon character would. I sigh to the ceiling and shake my head. He's awaiting my response, leaned forward and watching my every move.

  
"Fine, but I want my shirt back." I point sternly and he perks up, struggling to get out of the tub. I roll my eyes again and reach out a hand, and when he puts his in mine I notice his nails are painted a pastel pink. Quite subtle, but I notice. My heart is in my throat when he finally stands with my help, the top of my head reaches his nose. He looked much smaller sitting in the tub. I blink up at him and and take a large step back. His legs stretch for miles it seems, but it's quite endearing seeing him stand all pigeon-toed like that.

  
Now that he's closer to me I can see how large his doe-eyes are. They're a bright forest green, widely almond shaped and I've never seen eyes dazzle like his. I feel as if they can see into me. He gives me a bunny-toothed smile and I suddenly lose all sense of direction, the same feeling I get when I walk into a room and forget why I'd gone in there. I awkwardly smile back when he tilts his chin up towards the doorway as an indication to lead the way. I turn on my heel and feel him on my tracks behind me as we descent down the stairs. When we reach the crowded living room I feel his slender fingers wrap around my wrist so he won't lose me and my stomach swoops. He'd be able to hear my heart if it weren't for the rumbling music. I turn to him as we push our way past grinding bodies and slip from his grasp. I'm terrified of what people may think, especially now since Eleanor knows. I feel like I should bribe her to keep her mouth shut.

  
We somehow end up getting spit out the front door. I thought we'd never make it out alive. Harry comically sighs and acts like he's wiping sweat from his forehead like he's so relieved. I just nod in agreement and start walking. His bouncing shadow catches up to me.

  
"How far d'ya live anyway?" Harry kicks pebbles, propelling them into the darkness ahead of us. Streetlights are smeared across the wet pavement in yellow streaks. I scan him as he shoves his large hands into the small front-pockets of his jeans. It's quite funny looking with his large palms.

  
"About a day's journey." I say it like I'm serious and then I lose Harry's presence beside me. He stops dead in his tracks, practically coming to a screeching halt. I glance back at him over my shoulder, smirking. His waggish behavior would have my sides splitting if my night hadn't been so shitty.

  
"You're fucking with me." He points at me and squints his eyes while I keep walking. I almost sincerely believe he thinks I was being genuine. It's impossible to read whether or not he's as simpleminded as he comes off. He catches up to me once more. I hear him fumble over his own feet a bit, probably due to his drunkenness. "It's bloody freezing." His breath is visible, mingling with the fog.

  
"It's always bloody freezing." I rag on and I see Harry's mop of curls turn my way out of the corner of my eye. "This shit town has a climate void of seasons." I speak to the ground. It's true. Summer or winter- the air stayed soupy and frigid. I can still vividly remember our last cloudless day. We don't get them often. The surface of the ocean was iridescent under the dome of pure blue sky. Yeah, it's a shit town, but it has a landscape starkly different from anything you'd ever lay eyes on.

  
"I don't know... the spring is nice." Harry coughs into his hand and I shrug. We walk in silence, the sound of cars whizzing by on a twisting road above us somewhere on the risen cliffs. I feel Harry move closer to me after a few minutes of quiet. "What're you wearing?" He asks and reaches over to stick his hand into my unzipped hoodie, his fingers grazing my ribs. I don't mean to inhale so sharply. I quickly remove my hands from my pockets and swat him away. "Give me your sweater." He's tugging on the drawstring. My face is probably a furious shade of pink as Harry tugs at my clothes.

  
"Stop." I shrug him off, trying to sound annoyed, but my tone of voice is much softer than I'd intended. He crosses his arms.

  
"You're wearing a thermal long sleeve _under_ your sweater. C'mon, Lou, I'm freezing." All I can think is, _he whines like a baby._ It makes my heart flutter. I mentally curse myself.

  
"Don't call me Lou, _Hair_." I requite. He gives me that baffled shifty-eyed glance again. "You already have my flannel anyway. No way I'm letting you steal my sweater too." I sass and he scoffs, throwing his hands up and letting them smack his thighs when they come back down.

  
"We're going to _your_ house! Not like I'm mugging you and running off." He wildly gestures and I want to laugh at the conversation.

  
" _My_ shirt, _my_ sweater, _my_ house. Jesus, you're needy." I mock with a smirk, but something tells me he doesn't think I'm joking, when I am. Sort of. He just looks at me like I broke his heart into pieces, and I instantly recompense by shrugging off my sweater and throwing it to him so it covers his head for a second. When he reveals his face again he's smiling like an idiot. He slips it on and zips it all the way up to his neck. It's snug on him, but he looks content. I can't help but simper at the ground.

  
"Thanks!" His voice rises and falls like music.

  
"Mmh." I'm the one crossing my arms across my chest now. We walk for another twenty minutes. The more we bicker and speak I grow quite dote of the curly boy. He smiles at the things he thinks are worth smiling about, and not about the things he doesn't. Everyone else in this damn town fakes their interests to impress whoever the hell. Harry's different. Funny, interested, offbeat, and smart- a collection of personalities that inspire me, make me feel a new part of myself.

  
"Okay, this is it." I nod to my house. It's beaten to hell. You'd think it's been standing since the last tsunami fifteen decades ago. Shingles on the roof are hanging on for dear life, lively weeds grow up the side of the stucco and the chain linked fence has holes that look like it'd been gnawed through by rabid animals. "I've lived in this neighborhood since I was a baby. Our neighbors smoke crack and our landlord was part of the cartel. Pretty sure he's dead now." I see Harry make a face at me and then inspect the cracked walls. A part of me was seeing if I could scare him off. "The inside's not much better." I warn him and he gives me an expression that tells me he doesn't care. "Be quiet, capiche?" I tell him sternly and a bubbling laughter leaves his throat, but he stunts it with a large hand covering his mouth. "Not very promising." I say flatly in response to his chuckles.

  
I unlatch the small chain-linked gate and gesture him to the porch. He tiptoes up the creaky steps and waits for me to join him at the door. "My dad will strangle me if he knows I'm coming home this late. Last he knew- I was in bed. So _be quiet_." I whisper and Harry just nods, eyes glued to my mouth when I speak. It takes me a second to remember where we are, but when I do I carefully put the key in the lock and turn it.

  
I let Harry in first and watch him get swallowed up by the darkness of the entrance way. After I've locked the door I turn carefully and lightly bump into his back. I nudge him to the side so I'm in front of him and he's grabbing ahold of the belt loop above my arse so I can steer him the right way. I shake my head, trying to focus on being quiet, but the feeling he places in my chest is distracting. "Is he home?" Harry asks, not even in a whisper, and I whip around to quickly press my hand over his stupid, _warm_ , mouth. Little does he know we're directly outside my dad's open bedroom door. We're paralyzed in our position when a low grumble comes from the pitch black. I grab Harry's hand and pull him further down the hall to shove him into my room. Hastily pressing the door shut, I click the lock. When I turn around Harry's examining the pictures on my wall, like he hadn't almost cost me my life.

  
"Is this your mum?" He points to one of the frames, touching the glass with his fingertip. I throw my hands up in bewilderment.

  
"You're a little shit." I pinch the brim of my nose with my thumb and index finger, slip off my vans, and make my way to my bed. I crawl on all fours to press my face into my comforter. "You get the floor." I say, muffled through the fabric. I lazily throw pillows and blankets on the ground; I always have way too many on my bed anyway. Harry's watching them fall to the carpet.  
  
"Why can't we share the bed?" He holds onto my squeaky dresser as he pulls off his converse without untying them. I think a foot might come with it considering how hard he's pulling. He nudges the pillow on the ground with his socked toes.

  
"I'm doing you a favor. I toss and turn." I lie, rubbing my eyes into my skull. This shitty night is turning into a sleep over I didn't want to happen in the first place. Of course I want my own bed to myself. "Switch off that lamp when you're settled, would ya?" I nonchalantly gesture to it and bury myself under my comforter, still fully clothed.


	2. Don't Worry About Me

My eyes flicker open to the sound of a door closing. The alarm clock across my room blinks a red _9:45 am_ , which means my dad had left for his shift at the... _bar_? Maybe he works at the dump now, or the gas station. He's always between jobs. We speak so little that I've no clue where he resides occupation-wise anymore.

I turn my face into my pillow, my eyes irritated from the daylight leaking through the tattered blinds over my bedroom window. "You don't toss and turn." His groggy voice is breathed near my ear and it sends a chill up my spine. I abruptly rustle in my comforter so I can flip to face him.

We're inches apart and he's shirtless. His bare shoulders peek out from the blanket, _soft and milky_. Our eyes meet and he smirks. They're pools of emerald, half-lidded and _lovely_. I hurriedly sit up and scoot to the foot of the bed away from him.

" _Why_ are you like this?" I curl my lip at him and he shrugs, digging his knuckles into his eyes to rub the sleep out. The blanket slips down and reveals his collar bones. I act as if I'm not looking when he sits up as well. We sit like this for a minute. I feel as if I'll whither away in the uncomfortable silence. "Put a damn shirt on." I break the stillness and shift myself off the bed.

"Can I borrow one?" His voice is lower than last night, gravel-y and rich. It resonates off the walls. I'm about to leave the room to use the toilet when he asks this. My hand on the doorknob, I look over my shoulder to face him and he's crawling out of my bed- stripped down to his boxers. His toned thighs are creamy white, paler than the rest of his body. My eyes are locked on his love-handles, curvy and doughy. My mouth waters. I quickly turn when he gazes my way, my cheeks are on fire.

"Whatever." I say it to the door. My voice weak, head muzzy. I walk out and lock myself in the bathroom across the hall, staring at myself in the mirror; staggered by an alien feeling. Harry's the most outlandish person I'd ever meet. I'm sure of it.

I splash my face with chilled water, trying to get the blush in my cheeks to cool down. My face is buried in a towel when I hear a chary knock on the door. I gaze up at my reflection, eyeing my hair sticking up in an unkempt way.

"I have to pee." He says through the crack of the door. He makes his voice small. I audibly sigh and run a hand through my disheveled fringe. When I open the door he's standing there fully clothed in my loose white t-shirt and favorite black sweats. I'd say something if it weren't for his shy smile. He shuffles in the restroom past me to close me out.

___

"I could give you your clothes back at school or something." Harry is flipping through my CD collection in the glovebox of my car. I almost choke at the idea.

"No." I denote quickly. He stops moving and side-eyes me. I'd be mortified if people saw him return my clothes to me. They'd certainly think I'm gay then. We sit at the red light down the street from my house.

"Okay," Harry trails and continues shuffling through the albums. "then I'll just keep them." He finishes. I roll my eyes and press the gas when the light turns green. "You listen to NickelBack?" He stifles a laugh as he holds it up for me to see. I snatch it from his grasp and toss it back in the glovebox, reaching across and slamming it shut.

"Get your grubby fingers off my stuff." I hiss and Harry gives me a dirty look. "What's your problem, mate?" He turns to the window as if he doesn't expect a response, fogging up the glass with his breath. I see him use the tip of his pinky to draw a sad face and then he sits there and stares at it. I notice he's a bit more snarky when he's sober.

"You stole my clothes _and_ you used my toothbrush." I look at him like he's stupid and he shrugs, confused as to why I'm upset.

"So what?" He tilts his head back against the head rest, arms crossed. "My mouth is cleaner than yours, Nicotine Fiend." He pokes the back of my arm as I steer. I jerk it away from him. "Your car smells like an ash tray." He insults me and I scoff.

"At least I _have_ a car." I strike back like a child. Harry makes a sound like he's over it and starts fogging up my window again to draw with his fingers. I glance over at his painted nails and my pulse thickens at the sight. I secretly wish I had known him sooner. Every word he says and move he makes is an oddity. It's refreshing.

We drive for ten minutes, my headlights splintering the thick fog devouring my beloved white Volvo. Trees fly by my window in a green blur and Harry has a view that drops off into the endless ocean. The smell of pine and salty mist almost overwhelms my senses. The further up the winding mountain road we go the more I start to realize - Harry lives in the burbs.

He directs me to turn left when we've finally reached his house. My car struggles up a steep driveway and I'm blown away by the massive stone pillars of the patio, royal white roofing, and a balcony attached to grand French doors off the second story. "You-" I start and watch Harry gather his jeans from the floorboard as he's still wearing my sweats. "live in a mansion." He doesn't respond, he just studies the house in front of us like it's the first time he's seen it. "You're a _nob_."

Harry shakes his head at the term and turns my way in his seat after unbuckling. "I'll find you at school tomorrow." He says it like a question and I squint at him.

"That's okay. I'll just... see you 'round." I can't hold his gaze for longer than a second, I swear he can see my heart beating through my shirt. He smiles at me almost knowingly, and just chuckles as he exits my car and trots up the asphalt, jeans in hand.

____

_"Don't worry about me." Her voice echoes for years. I struggle to keep memories of my old life at bay as I'm falling, and landing on my head, but then I'm suddenly on my feet. See-through walls, glass pooling at my ankles. There's no way out. If I don't move I won't get cut, if I do I'll be able to climb to the sun. It's a thin orange line on the horizon, and I desperately imagine myself reaching it. I know I'll just watch it rise and set from the inside once again. I'm paralyzed. They're all watching, vacant holes in their skull for eyes. They don't see what I wish they would. "Don't worry about me." She rings so loud through my ears-I feel as if my brain has turned to bloody pulp. I chase the sound with my eyes, reaching the back of my head. I can't find her, I don't know her. They all think they do. A sonic boom and their skins melt off, bones falling through the sky. I'm still not alone. He's on the outside looking in. Clear and luminous mossy eyes, so bright they could be woven with strands of silk. He reaches for me._

I jolt awake in a cold sweat, heaving for air. I don't know what I'm reaching for, but suddenly my hands are scrambling for something on my bed-side table. I knock a book and a few pens to the carpet. "Shit." I curse under my heavy breathing when I realize a cup of water just out of my reach is what I was desperately trying to get ahold of. I stand in a hurry and slosh some of the fluid out of the glass in my panicked state. I gulp down the rest while slowly sitting down, tilting the cup to get every last drop. A wonderful way to start my week off; my nightmarish recurring dream is back, but this time he's there. Bright-eyed and hopeful.

____

I'm staring out at the sun dipping behind the distant trees in the horizon. My back is pressed against the rear of my car, parked in the student parking lot, and I fiddle with a pencil between my fingers- waiting for the bell to ring for homeroom. Hasty footsteps approach me and I can't help but hold in a breath, waiting for her to speak.

"You've ignored my calls all weekend." El states, my back still facing her. "Don't you think we should talk?" She has a sense of urgency in everything she ever says. "What you did at the party on Saturday was just... selfish. Imprudent." She hisses and I want to spit in her face for a split second. I wouldn't, but I want to.

"We have nothing to talk about." I say, more tranquil than I feel. She scoffs.

"So, what? You can't even look me in the eye now?" Her grip is on my shoulder and she's turning me towards her. I shrug her off.

"El," I sigh when I see how red and puffy her eyes look. Guilt eats at me for the first time since I last saw her. "you don't deserve this, I'm-"

"You think?" Her voice raises and I feel eyes on us as people exit their cars with books hugged to their chests. The bell rings.

"Let me finish." I tell her sternly. She glances around at the judging faces, realizing she's making a scene, but the wild look in her eyes tells me she doesn't care. "I'm sorry. Alright? I didn't want us to end this way, it's just-" I trail off, searching for the right words in the biting air around us. "I can't help who I'm attracted to..." I finish in a whisper. She scrunches her raw nose up in disgust. I'm trying to explain it to her in a way that gets through to her stubborn brain, in hopes she'll keep it between us. By the look on her face, though, it's not working.

"We've been together since freshman year, Louis!" She _really_ doesn't care if people are watching. Her arms flail in frustration. I shush her, motioning my palms downward to the earth beneath us. "We've been through _everything_ together. Good and bad... What have I done so wrong for you to fall out of love with me like this?" She quiets down, a helplessness in her broken words. I feel a twinge in my heart.

"I-" I start, but the rest of my words are stuck to the roof of my mouth. "I'm sorry." It's the only thing I'm capable of saying. I'd explain to her how it's not my choice who I'm attracted to, but I don't fully understand it myself.

"Me too." She purses her lips, tears rolling down her cheeks, nipped pink from the early morning breeze. I watch her turn around and saunter to her car across the lot. She's not going to school today. I feel awful for being relieved. My eyes follow her until she's enclosed in the driver's seat- and I let my feet carry me to class, the rest of my body numb from anxiety.

____

The day drags, and so do I with this heavy feeling in my heart, weighing me down. I plan to skip anatomy and I'm well on my way to do so when something stops me in my tracks. The sound of ' _We have anatomy together_ ,' resounds in my head. I could use a good bicker with Harry. He's quite the distraction, and I can't help but to want his attention. I feel a tightness in my chest as I turn on my heel to walk to the one class I'm hardly ever in. Now's the time I'd be driving home to take a long lunch and smoke a few cigs, maybe a joint. My dad doesn't get home until late. It was my escape.

When I enter the classroom I scan the heads at every desk, and so be it- we _do_ have anatomy together. He sits at his seat in the back, tight curls only visible from where I stand. His head is laid on the desk and I watch him aimlessly scribble his pencil across his notebook. He wasn't the only one I didn't know I had this class with. I recognize a majority of these faces, and if they'd told me I had anatomy with _them_ I wouldn't remember. I can't recall the last time I'd walked into this damn class, especially on time and sober.

I briskly tread down the isle Harry's seated in and I smoothly slide into the desk next to him. He still hasn't looked up from what he's scratching into his paper. I reach over and pinch his arm. His head snaps up and he looks affronted, a hand rubbing the spot I'd just pinched, and then his eyes soften when he see that it's only me.

"Hi." He says simply, hand dropping from caressing his own arm. I smile and nod toward his paper.

"What you drawing?" I ask as I pull my binder from my backpack. Harry looks confused at my question for a second, as he does every time I say anything, and then he perks up in realization at what I'm referring to. He grips the notebook and proudly shows me the scribbles. They're just jagged lines messily pressed hard into his paper, like a poorly drawn picture of a rat's nest. "That...looks like something a mental patient would draw." I raise an eyebrow at him and he lets the notebook fall facedown on his desk, his shoulders slouch.

"You're stupid." He says flatly, unamused. I laugh through my nose and he slowly blinks at me, a smirk pulling at his pink lips. I almost wonder if he's wearing a natural-shaded lipstick they're so pink. I must be staring because he lowers his head to catch my gaze with his warm eyes. I swallow thickly and turn my head to my desk. His gaze is still on me and suddenly I feel as if _everyone's_ is on me. _They all know_. I never show up to this class, and I'd sure as hell never sit by the boy who paints his nails. _They know, they know, they know._ My eyes skip over the classroom in panic and my heart is in my ears, beating so hard I start to feel queasy. An overwhelming feeling of the walls closing in on me is whirl-winding in my gut and before I know it- I'm leaving the classroom at a rapid pace.

I dart down the empty halls of the school, the exit to fresh air only seems to be getting further as I run closer. I reach my hands out, even though I feel lightyears away from pushing the metal bar on the double-swinging doors, but somehow I end up outside with my hands on my knees- gasping for air. I feel as if I'm not allowed time to catch my breath so I straighten out and jog to my car. The sound of my hurried footsteps echo in the parking lot, but suddenly they're joined by another set of feet slapping against the asphalt.

"Lou!" His voice has a way of almost knocking the air from my lungs. I halt in the middle of the lot and turn to him. He's loping towards me and slows down when he's sees that I've stopped. Resentment boils in my blood.

" _Why_ did you follow me? Did people see you come after me?" I approach him in a barreling way, I must have steam bellowing from my ears because he cowards away with a confused expression, but this time it's genuine instead of the usual lost puppy look he gives me. A crease forms between his brows.

"What? I'm making sure you're okay?" He sounds defensive and I think I see him stomp like a tantrum child. "You looked like you were going to throw up back there." His demeanor loosens and his head cocks at me in concern, I watch his long curls softly fall to the side.

"I'm fine." I spit and he's taken aback. I almost give up my angered state when I see the hurt look on his face. "S'just..." I close my eyes and exhale, a headache is forming behind my brow. "Don't worry about me." I tell him and my heart sinks when I say it. The four words that I loathe the most, that will haunt me for the rest of my life, are coming out of _my_ mouth. I clear my throat and shiver with fear, confusion, and anxiety. "Gotta go." I tell him, turning around, leaving him dumbfounded.


	3. High Boys

A week passes. I've skipped out on anatomy so often that a letter comes home addressed to my dad stating that I'm not currently eligible to graduate by the end of the schoolyear. To say the school system is unjust- would be an understatement. They have no clue who my dad is, and no clue what kind of hell they've just cast unto my life when he opens that envelope and reads what's inside. He doesn't give a shit about my grades, he just wants something to be mad about.

"Louis Tomlinson is not up-to-date on his class credits, therefore he is not accustomed to be eligible for graduation in May." My dad reads it to me as soon as I step foot in the door. He's sitting lazily on the couch, a glass of whisky is perspiring on the coffee table in front of him. It's Sunday night and I'd just gotten home from taking hits off the neighbor's bong. Not the ones who smoke crack, but a lad down the street who goes by "Z."

I swallow hard and my dad sits forward, elbows on his thighs as he lets the paper fall to the table. He stares at me, a look of hatred burns in his brown eyes. They almost look yellow with ill intentions. "I'm-" My voice gives out and I clear my throat, unable to look him in his fat face. "I still have three whole quarters to make it up- It's not a big deal." I explain timidly. He belittles me with a sarcastic _humph_. I watch him swig down the rest of his drink and then stand tall like a skyscraper. He approaches me and I feel powerless. It's exactly how he wants me to feel.

"Get your shit together." He grips the fabric of my hoodie in his fist, his face red with veins and wrath. I can smell the stench of booze on his breath, like he'd been drinking for hours. I'm sure he has. My heart is high in my throat and I'm trying to swallow it down. I know gripping my sweater won't be satisfying enough for him. Nothing ever is. I wait for a strike or a push, already wincing at the idea. "You're _weak_." His words leak with venom. "Useless little fucker. Imagine what your mum would say if she knew you were failing school." He tests the waters, poking at my triggers with a stick. He wants a reason to hit me, and he knows I just might give him one. I tell myself not to react and just let it go, but I've never been one for biting my tongue. Wonder who I'd derived _that_ trait from.

"At least I'm not a miserable, alcoholic _prick_." I've fucked up. His nostrils flare and and he slams me against the front door, the knob digging into my back. I groan, but he just pulls me forward and shoves me back again, this time letting go of my sweater. I fall to my arse, sitting against the door like a helpless wounded animal. I stare up at him through hot tears and he towers over me, his victorious posture silhouetted by the light overhead.

"Such a shame you couldn't have been the one to piss off and _die_." He rebukes and his spit reaches me from where he's standing, scolding me for breathing. My attempt to act unphased fails, my bones shake and my chin shrivels up. "Clean the kitchen." He demands before giving me one last odious glance and drunkenly staggering to his room.

-

I don't sleep. Considering it's impossible to sleep with one eye open, I just lie awake instead. I'm terrified my dad might come in and smother me with my own pillow. I shouldn't be so accustomed to worrying about such a thing, but it's become routine after he ignores me for a week and then suddenly throws me against a wall. Thoughts of falling from the face of the earth seep into my brain until I'm scratching at my scalp like a meth addict, trying to claw the brooding from my head. I lose my mind like this for six hours until my alarm chimes in my ear and I angrily press the lock button to my phone as hard as possible, a part of me wishes I could break it in half. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you." I curse at the sound as it ceases, but I realize it indicates the start of school in an hour. I've never been more relieved to go to school in my life. If I stay here another second I'd come apart at the seams.

I throw my comforter to the ground and get up to quickly dress myself in a maroon hoodie with nothing underneath, and grey sweats. I slip on my vans and pace out of the house before I even brush my teeth or look at myself in the mirror. I want to get as far away as possible from this damn town, but since I don't have the money or gas to get there- school will have to do.

-

"You look like shit." Liam has a distorted expression on his soft face when I leave maths. He's waiting for me outside the door. I have English with the guy, but I don't recall becoming close enough to insult each other, and we're sure as hell not close enough to wait for one another outside our classes.

"You're a twat." I look at him with my hooded eyes. He grimaces. "What you want anyway?" I watch our feet as he walks alongside me. I think about how dorky his fat running shoes look.

"You do the homework for _Swett's_?" He asks me, emphasizing our English teacher's name because, you know, _sweat_. So I suppose it's funny, but I don't find humor in much of anything lately.

"No." I dread the thought of even making it through the day to English. It's my class after lunch. I can't imagine surviving that long. Liam grunts discouragingly.

"I'm like five assignments behind." He whines and I take a breath to stop myself from telling him to fuck off. My patience is wearing thin today. I just hum in response, blatantly annoyed. Liam can't take a hint.

"You sick or something? You look awful,"

"So I've been told." I cut him off. "M'fine. Fuck off now?" I gesture a hand to shoo him away and he stops in his path as I keep on, leaving him behind.

My feet slow me down suddenly, as if they have a mind of their own. I squint up and I could almost swear the science hall is laughing at me right before it swallows me up into it's crowded corridor. Harry has been on my mind since our last encounter. It's not like we're all that close, but he only had good intentions running after me that day. And now he's going to see me like this. Bloodshot and heavy eyes, fear-stricken complexion, and my hair sticking up in every which way.

I release a dreading sigh before swinging the door open to Anatomy. I walk in and everything within me tells me to not look his direction, but I feel his gaze all over me like it's a warm, brick-heavy blanket. My view is torn away from the floor and we meet eyes. I watch him sit straighter, looking at me like he's expecting something. I flash a forced pursed-lip smile his way and slide into an empty desk across the room from him. He's still staring. It's such a strange feeling being watched so closely in way that doesn't feel like I'm being judged, but rather _looked after._ I squirm under his ogling eyes. When I look his direction again he cocks his head toward the empty desk next to his, telling me to join him. I act as if it doesn't mean anything and I look straight forward when the teacher starts lecturing.

Class goes on like this. My arms are crossed and I'm leaned back in my chair. I couldn't possibly do anything less to show the teacher how much I don't give a fuck about his class. Plus, I'd be dozing off if it weren't for the feeling of Harry burning holes in the back of my head with his candescent eyes. Once the bell rings I've already got my backpack on, readily darting from the room. I feel as though Harry and I are tied together at opposite ends of a rope, because leaving him behind without saying a word feels impossible and the further I stray away from the classroom- the heavier my shoulders feel.

I make it to the parking lot, car keys in hand, I plan to go park somewhere and take a nap. It's the only sleep I'd be getting for a while anyway. I don't know where my safety is anymore. Haven't for a while. "Louis!" His tender voice calls after me and this scene is all too familiar. I proceed to my car, I think I might ignore him, act as though I hadn't heard his call for me. He catches my wrist. "Where are you going?" It's my instinct to pull away from his grasp. He crosses his arms around himself and steps back. My eyes lock on _my_ shirt that he's wearing under _my_ hoodie. I almost can't believe I let him keep them. I love that damn hoodie. I don't mention it though. I just avoid his eyes by watching his curls fall limp from the light rain. He flips his hood up and I flinch when he reaches out and slips mine on my head too. I feel warmth in my cheeks. He's peculiar. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it. I adjust my sweater and clear my throat.

"To have a smoke or something." I explain. He's kicking at nothing beneath his shoes. My eyes travel up his willowy legs.

"Alone?" He inquires. I look through him and shrug.

"Unless you'll be guilt tripping me so I'll allow you to come along. You do have a tendency of doing that, you know?" I eye my clothes on his slender body. He just gives me that aloof look that drives me insane.

"Okay?" He eyes me as though I don't make sense. Maybe I don't. I'm not sure why I give him such a hard time. I watch him turn away from me now and start to walk away. I can't read him, is he really just going to keep walking? He has to be testing me. He'll turn back around. He's five or six parking spaces away before alarms go off in my chest. Fuck.

"Okay, fine!" I shout after him. I don't remember making the decision to shout for him, it just happens. He freezes in place and looks over his shoulder at me. "C'mon!" I exasperatedly gesture to the passenger's seat and he comes scurrying towards me with small, dragged steps, his hands in his pockets. I offer him an amused look at the way he scampers. He laughs aloud like he's so funny and I just shake my head, closing myself in the driver's seat after him. 

_

"Do you have a cold?" Harry takes it upon himself to turn the warm air on full blast. I click it down a notch and he mumbles a sorry. 

  
"No." The car feels ten times warmer than it was a split second ago. I can't decide if it's his presence that overheats me, or if it's the heater. "It's bloody hot, mate. Why do you gotta touch things that aren't yours?" I complain and turn the air off completely.

  
"Chill out. Take your hoodie off then." His voice is raised in defense. It's too comical to take seriously. "If you're not sick then why do you look so..." He leans forward in his seat to peer at my face."sick?" I graze my eyes over his endless arms.

"Just tired, fhanks." He makes a sound like he doesn't believe me. When I look over at him he's already staring. "What?" I can't help but sound ashamed. I'm sure I look like the living dead. 

  
"Where are we going?" I'm thankful he changes the subject. My heart rate is alert, ready to skip at any word that comes out of his mouth. I can't remember feeling this way with anyone, not even Eleanor. It's beyond me.

  
"Oh, um...Not sure. I've a joint." I explain. He hums as if to think about where we could go. 

  
"Nobody's home at my place." He mentions and I nod, turning on to the winding road up the sage lush mountain towards the castle that he calls his " _place_." 

  
We reach the slanted driveway and I gear my car into emergency park. Harry leads me to the patio and I'm already mesmerized by the grand structure of his damn house. "You live in a palace, you know?" I mention to him as we set foot into the chandelier-lit entry way. I'd never seen taller ceilings. The air smells sweet, like icing on a child's cake. It almost makes me sick.

  
"Take your shoes off." He grabs the end of my sleeve and tugs me away from the carpet I'd almost walked all over with my muddy shoes. 

  
"Oh." I utter, he's already forcing his off without untying them, _again_. I think about making a remark and telling him to invest in Velcro shoes, I think about how bizarrely he'd respond.

  
"You want a drink?" He offers and I can't even respond before he's saying "I'll get you juice." I almost snicker at the innocence in his expression. 

  
"What are we, five?" I follow him into a kitchen bigger than my whole house. Grey, marbled countertops hug the walls with white cupboards complementing them. He wanders to the steel fridge and pulls it open. 

  
"Everyone likes juice, Lou." When he calls me that it feels as if we used to know each other; maybe somewhere in our past lives, as cheesy at it sounds. "Cran or apple? _Or_ cranapple?" He asks, holding the two boxes of juice up for me to see and he puts one in front of the other when he says _cranapple_ , as an indication of mixing the two.

  
"Got any vodka we could mix in?" I lean against the counter across from him, my hands stuffed into my sweat's pockets. He sets the juices on the countertop next to me and gives me a comical, offended look, and then his cheeks burst into a smile as if he'd made a joke.

  
"You're getting apple." He ignores my question like it's already been answered. I watch him as he effortlessly reaches to the tallest cupboard and retrieves two wine glasses, filling them both with juice. He pours himself cranberry. "Looks like real wine." He whispers it, his bright eyes amusedly looking up at me from the glass. I stifle laughter by breathing through my nose harshly as he's pushing the apple juice my way. "Can we go have a joint now, or what?" He exclaims as if _I'd_ been the one cramping our time with juice. His facial expressions are so intense I can never seem to tell whether he's joking or not. 

  
"Sure?" I gesture my hand like he'd asked a dumb question and he laughs, striding in front of me to lead me to a sliding glass door that leads out into his garden for a backyard. He carries himself with ease. Totally comfortable. I only notice because I feel exactly the opposite; way out of my element.

  
"Holy _shit_." My eyes widen at the yard. Hummingbird feeders, swaying in the muggy breeze, frame my view of the small pond in the grass. A stone fountain lives in the middle, spurting water. The sound is relaxing. Roses somehow survive in this whether, brimming the water like guards. "Why is your family so _rich_?" I can't help but look repulsed. Green ivy climbs the tall wooden fence to my left.

  
"You can sit here." He's positioning himself in a chair joined with the rest of the patio furniture. His hand grips the arm of another and it screeches across the concrete to face directly in front of him. I wonder why he doesn't answer my damn questions. The way he behaves is mystifying to me- in a complicated way. I plod over to the chair, hesitantly, and take a seat. We set our juices on the table beside us. 

  
"Do we _have_ to sit like this?" I'm facing him like he's going to read me a story. He retrieves a small dish from the middle of the table, stretching to do so, and I can see his soft stomach peek from under his shirt. He's setting it beside us to ash in, I imagine. 

  
He shrugs, curiously observing me as I remove the joint from my cigarette pack that was in my sweater pocket. His sharp cheekbones are slick with glimmering light. It astounds me- considering the dark clouds blanketing the light overhead. "I've only smoked weed once." He admits in a small voice and I can't help but chuckle at that. "S'not funny." He laughs as he's struggling to fit his legs into a criss-cross position in his damn lawn chair. He reminds me of a huge dog with small-dog syndrome. He underestimates his own size. 

  
"You're in for a ride, then." I wiggle the joint at him, he snatches it out of my grip and places it between his lips as I dig the lighter from my pocket. I try to hand it to him.

  
"You do it." He says it, muffled, the joint still dangling from his mouth. His pupils almost cross as he's trying to look at it. I'm staring at the upswept outer corner of his eyelashes when he's glancing up at me, expectant. I make a face of realization, trying to shake off the feeling in my chest. _The kid is wearing mascara_. My stomach is deep-diving and coming back up for air. "Sorry." I whisper and it practically comes off as a confession. I kick myself.

  
I bring the lighter to the end of the joint. "You gotta suck in when I strike it." I tell him, my voice sounds sugary, sweeter than it ever has. I'm taken aback, but he doesn't notice because he just nods impatiently. I wonder what the hell I'm doing here with him, at his mansion, smoking _my_ weed that I planned to have to myself. I feel foolish for wanting this. I ignite the lighter and the winds push out the flame before the joint can burn. My hand hesitantly cups the end and I try again, without success. This time Harry cups the opposite side and places his other hand over mine, so we're both cupping the joint. The moment almost feels intimate, as his green, saccharine globes swallow up my eyes when I finally light the joint and his cheeks hollow. The light reflects off the tip of his strong nose and I lower it now, my mind is havering different terms I could use to describe the way he looks. My attention is drawn away from his structured nose when he exhales the smoke that once harboured in his lungs. It clouds my vision of him.

  
He's coughing like he might just die and I'm holding back a smile. "Fuck." He curses in a strained voice and I don't think I'd heard him officially curse before. I was starting to wonder if he even knew how.

  
"Nice." I pluck the joint from his fingers and hit it. "Feeling good?" I ask him after a silence. He looks like he doesn't know how to hold his head up. He gives me a thumbs-up anyway. A dopey grin on his face. I direct my attention to ashing, my smile is prominent and I pray he doesn't notice.

_

"One time I took all my clothes off and swam in the pond while I was really drunk." I can practically feel Harry's voice haloing my head. My eyes are weighted down with sleep and it feels as if they take a day and night to reach his face. He's looking off into his yard at the rippling pond before turning his head my way, giggling. I let a smirk pull at the corner of my lips. My high is slowing down time and the sound of rain on water is filling my ears. I wonder how Harry feels, being an amateur smoker, because I'm feeling pretty damn stoned. 

  
As if he reads my mind he says "Yeah, I'm pretty high." in a voice that almost sounds like he's an old lady from Downton Abby. And then he gushes with laughter, his feet kicking up, an outspread hand on his chest. I join him with a chuckle that quickly turns into me doubling over in hysterics. 

  
"You said that so funny." I laugh at him and he squeaks an _'I know,_ ' between his breathless chortles. We're like that for almost a minute, I could swear I'm getting abs- because I can't remember the last time I'd laughed so hard. It felt relieving, as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Tears are brimming my eyes as we're starting to tone it down and then he says "I almost peed." And we start up all over again.

  
"Fucking stop." I painfully croak through laughs and he's doing this thing where he's yell-laughing to the sky and it only kills me more. It's about five minutes later, suddenly. I start to wonder if our hysterical fit was real; the tenderness in my abdomen tells me it was. I haven't felt this high in a long time. I remember that I'm tired, and hungry, so I blame my delusional state of mind on that instead of the weed. 

  
A loud clanking comes from the other side of his yard and I almost go numb with fear. Paranoia has always been a problem for me when I smoke. Not Harry. He's fiddling with the roach of a joint in the ashtray when he freezes and looks over to me to whisper "The hell?" He starts to chuckle again like it's a joke, but I slap his knee as an indication to shut up. I feel like we're waiting for some kind of impending doom when a small man with heavy denim jeans and a raincoat turns the corner. 

  
"Hi Will!" Harry waves and the man waves back. He has huge gardening shears in his grasp and I look at Harry, bewildered. "S'just the gardener, chill." He laughs at me like I should've known. I sigh in annoyance.

  
"I thought we were going to die, you little shit." I can't help the resonance of amusement in my voice. I watch the man drag a trash can with one hand over to an overgrown bush near the fence before he starts trimming it.

  
"Bet you guys have a maid, too." I scoff and Harry humphs, like he agrees with my ridiculing. When I break my gaze from _Will_ to look over at Harry, he's traveling his blazed eyes down my body and then back up to my face. My skin sears with blush and my mouth is parched. I'm sure I'm flushed with crimson when I see the corner of his mouth twitch. It's almost like he wanted me to see him checking me out. His eyes are burning into mine, cauterizing my face. I feel as if the world around us silences when he licks a stripe across the bottom of his front teeth for me to see, his gaze is attached to my lips. My heart falls and bounces against my chest, I can almost feel his do the same. Harry very quickly becomes a different person to me in this moment. One who isn't as innocent as he naturally comes off. Maybe I'm just high, but something hungry in his eyes changes my idea of him completely. I feel as if I'd just made a mass discovery, excitement in my bones. 

  
"She's Edna." I almost think I saw his mouth move before I hear his words, like some kind of trippy delay. Our eyes meet again. 

  
"What?" I swallow down the ardor in my throat. 

  
"The maid." Harry raises his eyebrow at me and then turns his head away to stare off into the distance, a knowing look on his charming face.

  
" _Nob_." I try to say it with confidence and teasing, but it comes off winsomely and personable. He sputters a laugh. 

  
-

  
"I'm guessing we won't be making it back to school?" Harry is following me up the stairs as if I know where I'm going in his damn maze of a castle. I forgot school existed and we were only on our lunch break. My eye twitches. 

  
"Don't remind me." I say to the hall in front of me. Harry is hot on my trail and I feel him huff a breath onto the back of my head. When I turn around he's standing like a monument, we're inches apart. I push on his chest, taking steps back. "You're in my bubble." I whine and his bloodshot eyes smile. 

  
"Then keep walking." He says- like it's an obvious solution to keep him off my heels. 

  
"I don't know where the fuck we're going." I madly gesture my hands to the multiple doors lining the hallway, which could be a room on it's own. 

  
"Oh yeah." He giggles and leads the way now. I watch his feet shuffle in small strides, like he doesn't know the extent he could probably stretch his long legs. He's opening a door at the very end of the hallway and when I step in my jaw falls. His room is teeming with daylight and pastel colors. Yellow curtains are drawn open to reveal French doors- leading to the balcony visible from the front of his house. My eyes linger on the thriving, leafy plants set upon his light blue dresser, a flat screen t.v. occupying it. Shelves filled with books and snow globes, records lining the wall opposite us, and a huge, inviting bed with a pink comforter. It looks like it'd been stitched with clouds. 

  
"I know it's kind of girly, so shut up." He pokes my arm and then ambles over to close his curtains. The room dims. I shake my head, mouth pressed shut, as if I wasn't planning to tease him about his room. I _almost_ asked him why we're in his sister's room as a joke, but something stops me. A sort of indulgent feeling that I haven't felt before.

  
"S'nice." I say and make myself at home on his bed, letting my head envelope into his memory-foam pillows. A bed has never felt more comfortable. "I'd kill to have this room, honestly." I say sleepily, and it's not a complete lie. 

  
"Not all that great." Harry mumbles, climbing over me and joining his head with mine on the long pillow.

  
"Fuck off with that talk." I roll my eyes. How can he be ungrateful with a life like his?

  
"None of it is real." He talks about his belongings like it's fools gold. I let my head fall to the side to face him. His frizzed-out curls are a halo of hair on the pillow. His expression is serious, eyes droopy as he stares up at the ceiling. I want to mock him, sneer at him or something. Tell him he _has it made_ , but I just hum in response- waiting for an explanation. _He looks nice._

  
"Remember the night we met and we went to your house and everything, because I said I couldn't go home that drunk?" His voice is so quiet, my ears perk up to listen. I notice the tip of his nose moves with every word he says. I just nod. "Nobody was even home that night. Nobody is ever home." He sighs. I pinch my eyes shut in confusion. 

  
"So, wait- you could've went home the whole time?" I sound addled. I think about how my dad would've _murdered_ me if he knew I was sneaking in a drunk stranger.

  
"I-" He looks at me timidly. "didn't want to be alone, I guess." It's divulging, the way he says it. Undeclared until this second. There's a pinch in my stomach. Every urge I had before to tease him is gone, like it never existed in the first place. 

  
"Well..." I don't know what to say. "we could've come here. It's _way_ less ghetto." I laugh, but he doesn't. My smile drops. He's just watching me.

  
"Yeah right," he pretends he's busy rolling up the end of his sleeve now. "you hated me, there's no way you would've said yes to an invite to my house." His lips soften into a coy smile. I give him a look that tells him he's right. He nudges my arm with his elbow and I chuckle. "And anyway," he shakes his head. "this whole place is fake." He gestures widely to the ceiling. " _A boy who's parents are never home so they settle for buying his love_." He says it like it's the description of his autobiography. My chest deflates at his words. "I hate it here." It comes out in a whisper. "It feels better with y- someone around, though." His eyes quickly flicker to watch my expression, like he's scared of what I'll say. 

  
"That's tough." I tell him and he looks relieved. My view falls to my clothes he's wearing. It feels different now that he's basically told me he wants something _real_. Like that's how he thinks of me. My clothes, my house. _Real_. The feeling welcomes a sort of hope into my heart. "I'll stick around and take a nap since you're so fond of having me here." I lighten the mood and he raspberries his lips.

  
"Don't get a big head there, Lou." He jokes, but I'm already dozing off. His warmth covers me in safety. A new feeling squeezes my heart. We're different now. I wonder if he can feel it too.


	4. Impulsive, Shmimpulsive

"That one's like the sun. Sort of a giant tangerine in the sky." Harry forms a circle in the air by cupping his hands. My fingers trace over the abstract art. An orange oval is burning behind jagged grey lines.

"So..." I snap my eyes to him, observing his face as he looks down at his own drawing. "the scribbles you were, um... drawing in Anatomy?" I check and he nods. Abstract art. How much more fucking bizarre can he get? "Should've just drawn a tangerine in the sky." I mumble as I flip to the next page of his sketchbook. We're sitting close, shoulders touching, leaned up against the wall his bed is pushed against.

"Well for your information, _Louis_ , I can't draw tangerines. Or much of anything." He sasses and I humph a laugh, feeling his voice in my bones. A strange feeling; hard to explain.

It's probably one in the morning by now, we're losing ourselves in talking, bickering, and now I'm flipping through his abstract "art." He's starting to endear me with anything he does. It makes me envy him in some sort of aberrant way. I almost look mockingly to his next drawing. Two circles, a cold blue color, and zig-zags in the middle of them. "What's this one?" I lean my head back against the wall, watching him scan the paper and then locking his gaze with mine. The room floats for a second.

"Eyes? I dunno." He reaches down and hurriedly flips the page and I could swear I'm suspended in time. Eyes? _Subtle_ , I think. Maybe it's just hopeful thinking, but those metaphysical eyes sure are the same color as mine. He reads my mind again. "They're just eyes, Louis." He says it almost scared, searching my face like it'll make me believe him. If I wasn't sure they were supposed to be my eyes before- I sure as hell know they are now.

I give him a soft look and continue on through his sketchbook, his stare lingers on my face for a bit, kindling my cheeks, and then the room heats. Curly hair is tickling the side of my face and the warm weight of his head is resting upon my shoulder. I visibly melt into the touch, subconsciously scooting impossibly closer to him. I think I feel him relax when he knows I'm okay with it. My heartbeat is knocking the air out of me, thrashing in my chest. There's no way he can't hear or feel it. It's confessing the way I feel, right then and there, when I'm not even sure how I feel. _My heart is a fucking loud mouth_. I think I might feel his too.

"I water-colored that one." I don't even notice I'm still flipping pages when he says this. My eyes uncross from the top of his head and land on a beautiful mixture of pastels, blending together like they're made for each other. "S'like springtime. That feeling of a new start. You know?" His cheek rubs on my shoulder, angling his eyes to survey my face. I nod.

"Yeah. I know."

-

He smells like sultry desert after a shower. Sweet, floral, _savory_. Sort of like a beautiful woman; one without imagination. I only notice because he's sitting so close to me at the counter. I'm sipping on tea as he stirs his coffee with a spoon aimlessly. He's focused on a text and before I can be nosy enough to read it- he locks his phone. I amusedly watch him as he lets his head fall to rest on his arm- which is lounging on the countertop. "Could sleep just like this." His voice is muffled.

We're trying to muster up the energy to go to school at such an early hour after a long night. Memories of Harry's head on my shoulder are reeling in my head. _"Get comfortable," I'd told him when he started to doze off. He took this as an invitation to sit upright and strip from his shirt to them hermit inside the blankets next to me._ My heart feels exhausted from beating so damn violently all night.

"Hell, I could sleep standing up." I agree and he makes a sound of despair into the crook of his arm. I sip my tea to hide my smile. A gentle feeling towards him resides in my core. It wasn't there before last night. Something that's become apparent; Harry's tenderhearted. In need of a sort of care-taker figure in his life. It feels fitting, me bearing all this guilt from my past, and him giving me a chance to find new things within myself.

"Let's ditch." Harry rests his cheek on his arm now, so he's looking at me from an odd angle. I shake my head, breaking eye contact. He sits up on the barstool and nudges my shoulder with his. "Just kidding," He starts. "I've a got a test in Government." I peer at him as he gazes into the distance, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He looks like he'd detached from reality at the mention of a test.

"You smell good." I reply, and he snaps out of the trance he's in. The words spill out of my mouth so suddenly I almost think I didn't say them. His eyes search mine, as if to see if I'm messing with him. I'm as taken aback as he is. Holding in a breath, acting as though I'd just told him I loved him on a first date. _Dimples_.

"Thanks." His voice pitches upward and comes back down to say, "S'like an all organic shampoo I use or something." He sips his coffee while looking at me, dimples still on full display. I pretend to be uninterested as I swig down the rest of my tea, turning my head from him. My heart is skipping beats I most likely need in order to live.

-

Harry texts someone the whole way to school. He seems half interested in the things I say and some sort of jaundice cloud swarms my brain. "Who the hell the you texting anyway?" I ask, like I'd unhinged after a long silence of him typing away on his phone. He glances up at me with his tired eyes as I park in my assigned spot at school. I think I see him smirk and he snickers air through his nose.

"I gotta meet up with a friend before class. I'll see you in Anatomy?" He reaches over and squeezes my hand; I move it away. He doesn't seem to notice though, he just opens my car door to leave me lonely. I sit, baffled by a heavy feeling of gloom in my chest. I'd be a fool to think Harry's only friend is me, but up until this point- that's exactly what I thought.

-

I'm darting out of maths after the bell refused to stop mocking me for an hour. I have a one track mind involving Harry and his " _friend_." I stride down the hall, pushing past a group of girls probably too aggressively as one of them tells me to fuck off. I don't look back to apologize. I burst through the science hall doors and practically glide to anatomy. He's sitting, a foot kicked up in the seat next to him as if to save it for me. I let my mind slow down from all this running rampant it had been doing. He moves his foot to the floor before I plunk in the seat. His knee is bouncing and he hardly spares me a glance as he's focused on drawing red circles onto the paper in front of him with his pen. The drawing looks angry, anxious.

"You alright?" I try to catch a glimpse of his focused face behind his shaggy curls. His hand goes still, no longer drawing, and he squeezes his eyes shut to then exhale. He looks up at me, unable to hold my gaze as his bleary eyes shift around the room.

"Yeah." He says more to himself and continues with his drawing. I raise an eyebrow and try to focus on the lesson board at the front of the class, but Harry's mood is throwing me off. I'd never seen him act so uninterested and disturbed. I catch myself staring at him now, as he does too. "What?" He whispers it like he's scared someone will hear. I shrug.

"Well," I start. "what's the matter?" I ask carefully and he looks dispirited. His face turns to his desk again, shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath.

"A few things, I dunno." I almost don't catch his words as he's mostly talking to the paper in front of him. "My parents aren't going to be home for another two weeks." He says, visibly swallowing down a lump in his throat. My eyes follow his mouth when he speaks. "They were supposed come home tomorrow. I never get to fucking-" He sharply inhales through his nose and exhales out of his mouth like he's stopping himself before he regrets what he's going to say. The background noise of everyone else socializing before class starts is soothing in a way. Like nobody can see us. "I never get to see them because they're international aid workers- which is cool and all- if you don't have a damn child at home." He gestures to himself and lets his hands fall flat on his desk.

"They build homes for the unprivileged, or something. Like help with the blueprints and stuff, I guess? I don't know. They're amazing and like... charitable and all, I'm not trying to be selfish- It's just..." He bumbles on, like he needs some sort of explanation as to why he feels bad for being practically abandoned by his parents. "A house isn't a home without a family, you know?" I feel my heart stop and begin to beat faster at the sight of tears in his doe eyes. His words are invading my head, sitting next to my own parent issues. I nod, not taking my eyes off him. He offers me a soft smile, shaking his head like it'll rid his tears.

"Are you okay?" The ditzy blonde girl behind me asks a crying Harry. He nods and I can't help but pipe up.

"Leave him alone." I hold a hand up to her like she has no place in this world. An offended scoff and sits back in her desk, crossing her arms like a spoiled child. Harry purses his lips, seemingly holding back a smile as he gives me a look that tells me I'm insane. "Wanna ditch?" I ask him now and he gives me an unsure shrug. My knowing eyebrow raise must convince him, though, because he defeatedly shoves his notebook in his backpack.

_

"We really should break this habit of skipping school so much." Harry's arm grazes mine as we walk side by side. The fog sits heavy in the air and rain droplets lightly kiss his strong nose. I'm hugging a woven blanket to my chest. "Where are we going, anyway?" He squints up at the non-existent sky. I'd driven for maybe twenty minutes to reach the outskirts of town. The carefree ocean is angrily ramming it's waves into the jagged rocks below us. A cliffside with a vacant bench presents itself behind the fog.

"Usually there's a pretty sick view of the water here, but this fog is bloody solid today." I grumble and Harry smiles at the bench. We sit and I wave the blanket out like a flag before covering our legs. Harry invites himself to sit closer to me, our arms pressed together.

"I can still see it." He points into the distance and I furrow my brow intensely, acting as though I can see through the wall of murkiness in front of us. "Made you look." He bubbles with laughter and I stare at him like I'm so not surprised whatsoever, but he always seems brand new to me. His personality is endless. Dorky, loving, touchy, serious, spacey, and endless.

"Whatever." I roll my eyes. We stare out at nothing for a bit, the sound of the ocean breaking the quiet we're enclosed in. I start to wonder when the awkward silence between us became so comfortable. His heart is beating hard, I can feel it in sync with mine.

"What're we doing here?" He says now, like he'd been working up the courage to ask. His tinted cheeks and nose are being nibbled at by the frosty breeze.

"I don't know... I usually come here to like think and stuff." I cross my arms and he weirdly puckers his lips out and nods slowly. "It's really fucking cold, though." I sigh and he chuckles.

"What sort of things do you think about? When you come here..." I can see his warm breath follow his words. The question digs at my brain, so many things I won't say.

"Just... shit." I gesture to the space in front of us like it's this so called, " _shit_ " that I speak of. Harry makes a disgusted sound. "Gross, man." He curls his lip and I give him a look that tells him he's an idiot and then we both crack smiles.

"You're an oaf." I say and his laughter bounces his arm against mine. A silence follows the sound of his chuckles, and we sit like that for maybe two minutes too long. It's enough for me to imagine what it'd be like to open up to him. He's been vulnerable in front of me, Lord knows I've never done it before. Opening up, I mean. I wouldn't know where to begin, but somehow I end up telling him what I'd never planned on telling him. I'm not sure what takes over, but I say, "My mum... Is what I think about here. And anywhere I go."

His breathing stills so quick I can see it. He watches my side profile. I catch his serious eyes, warm and concerned. I shake my head as if I'd said too much. Harry's hand finds my knee under the blanket and he gives it a squeeze that tells me I don't have to talk about it. I can tell he wants me to. His generosity stunts any words that almost leave my loud mouth. I reach out to his cold hand with mine, gripping it under the blanket. He flips it so he can interlace our fingers and I think I might throw myself off the cliff with all the unfamiliar adrenaline pumping through my veins. We're holding hands and the excitement in my heart is trembling my bones. I try not to shake. I feel like a damn second grader with a school-girl crush. Unbelievable.

"We should run away." He says to the sky. His thumb starts to stroke my knuckles and I feel like vomiting up my heart. He says it like he's serious, the pad of his fingers squeezing into my skin. I could burst into flames. Watching his face to see if he's messing with me, he locks his eyes on my mouth and I feel as if my stomach is knotting up like a pretzel. A sexual tension that wasn't there before is looming over us. He bites his bottom lip, lust in his eyes. My face must look like a luminous ruby. "You know," He breaks the silence. "before we're committed to some drab desk jobs, or nailed down to leases on apartments we can't get out of..." His grip is loosening in mine. I'm subconsciously holding his hand tighter. "Everyone here dreams of leaving, but can't find their way out. It'd be timely, you know? To get out of here when we're still young and impulsive." He's looking my face high and low, like he's expecting an answer from me. I'm stupefied by his fairy-tale words and his amorous touch. It takes all of me to come back down to earth and tear my eyes from his. Everything he says feels illicit, forbidden to talk about.

"You do talk some shit." I'm shaking my head at the ground, lacking his enthusiasm. He humphs, as if he wasn't dead serious this whole damn time. The desirable look in his virescent baths for eyes tell me a different story. They strip me of my confidence, bathe me in vulnerability. It doesn't sit well with me, but the feeling of his hand in mine- tells me I'll warm up to it. "We're not _that_ impulsive." I continue. I don't want him to think I'd discarded everything he said. I know he doesn't think of me like that, though.

Harry flickers his eyes at me, a challenging glint behind them. I give him a look, one that questions his unspoken thoughts. "Are we not?" He lets go of my hand and stands, hinging his long fingers through his belt loops on his black jeans to pull them up a smidge. I wearily follow his gaze as he squints at the land rising from the beach below. It stretches out halfway into the shallows, waves hitting the sharp boulders lining the sand, spraying upward into the sky. Seafoam washes up when the waves leave. "Watch." He says to me and I stand in a hurry. He's running on a pebbled path leading to the beach beneath us. He flies down the hill like he's got no brakes. I feel frozen in my stance, terrified of what he's planning to do.

"Harry! What the hell!" I yell after him, somehow jogging down the hill behind him. I don't know if he can hear me over the enraged waters. He loses his footing and barrel rolls onto the level ground below me. I have to slow down to cackle, but the lack of air in my lungs hardly allows me to. "You're such a lubber!" I shout and his laugh carries up the hill, reaching my ears. I finally catch up to him. He's waiting for me, his arse planted in the cold sand, a hand outstretched for me to help him up. "Is that what you wanted to show me? You wiping out?" I aid him to his feet and am immediately brushing dirt from his hoodie. Touching him is starting to come naturally to me, I'm befuddled with my own hands.

" _Impulsively_ wiping out." He points a finger in my face and I laugh, swatting it away. "But no. That's not what I was going to show you." He's spinning around and dashing away again. My feet almost spin in cartoon-circles as I take off after him. He's climbing over a huge rock to reach the land outstretched into the waters. The waves could fucking kill him if they reach above the monstrous rocks. I feel my breath hitch in my throat.

"Harry! Not cool!" I throw my arms up and he smiles back at me, ambling his way to the edge. I feel my fists clench when a towering wave crashes down just in front of him. "You're going to get killed!" I have to scream over the roaring waters. Harry just waves. I annoyedly grunt and hoist myself over the same rock he climbed.

My shoes meet the wet sand again as I drop down, catching myself with my hands. A wave looks way too close to him and I scream like a terrified child when it lashes out on the rock beside him. "They're only getting bigger!" I yell at him and he's outstretching his arms, back faced to me. He faces his palms and face up to the sky, eyes closed, seemingly feeling the mist on his skin. I exasperatedly rub my temples to then carefully follow in his shoeprints with my smaller ones. When I reach him I'm tense with anxiety. The ocean is only getting angrier, and busier. He doesn't seem to mind facing the possibility of sudden death like this. _Getting thrashed against a rock by a wave and his dead body being carried out to sea. Search teams would be assembled for him, wandering the woods and creating fliers, Have you seen this boy?_ And the whole time he'd be deteriorating for the sharks. Me going missing on the other hand- no one would bat an eye.

"Harry, please." I say in his ear and pull at his jumper. "You're really fucking testing my patience-" A wave splashes us with it's mist a bit too wetly. I harden my grip on his sweater. He just stares out at the ocean and amusedly smiles down at me. I'd be red with annoyance if it weren't for the fear in my gut.

"Just feel the breeze, Lou." He grips my bicep and pulls me closer towards him. His grasp quiets my intrusive thoughts of death. He's closing his eyes again, smiling through the mist. The angered waves still make me tremble in my skin, but we stand there for a bit longer. I don't know why I stop being adamant on getting us the hell away from the water, but he looks genuinely peaceful like this. It eases my mind. It would anyone's. He's got some sort of power in his smile. He peeks at me with one open eye now. I'm staring. "Impulsive, _shmimpulsive_." He relaxes his eyes on me and I swallow his words down like sweet syrup. My stomach bubbles with fresh feelings.

"You're actually insane." I say to him, but my face must tell him I think he's intriguing because he looks as though he'd just received a compliment.

I don't even notice I'm not fearful of the ocean anymore, I'm only itching for his touch. He holds my hand again, shoving It in his hoodie pocket with his own. We stand like this, just two kids really. Just trying to make it.

Floating in the breeze.


End file.
